Remember
by CurseOfTheEnder
Summary: A normal man, a deadly secret. A lost soul trapped within the grip of the poisonous night. A kind-hearted soul, a lost reality. A man bound by the collar the world chokes him with. Two young boys, each destined to forget how gentle the world can be. Can they remember? (Skylox, Merome, Enderlox.)
1. Prologue:

**(Notice: The redo of this book will contain a lot more sexual and possibly triggering scenes. I will not be giving warning to either of these, as almost every chapter will contain one or the other. If you don't feel comfortable with either of these things... then leave.)**

**(Chapter every Friday! (Hopefully))**

**Prologue:**

The boy below me is alone. He's small, and scrawny, and as my tail swishes above me, I grin, and grip the branch I'm standing on harder.

"_Are you ready_?" I whisper. _No…_ "_We're going to show dad just how strong we are! He'll be proud. Don't you want that_?" I glance over my shoulder, eyes wide as I stare at the tree trunk besides me, my grin still apparent. "_Exactly_."

Jumping from the branch and plummeting towards the ground, I outstretch a hand and suddenly I'm slamming into everything. The ground is all that I can see, and taste. _No, that's blood_… Groaning lightly as the red substance trickles from the corner of my lips, I slowly sit up, bringing a hand to my head as I spit the rest of the blood out of my mouth.

"Are you alright…?" Sharply looking to the small boy, I snarl; baring my teeth as I slowly inch towards him, tail high in the air and my wings outstretched, though small. My four feet… or… two hands and two feet, upon the ground, I eye him, but I don't see a weapon. "Um, c-can I… help… you?" The boy steps away, scared. _You don't have to-_.

Rushing towards the scrawny kid, he screams, trying to run off, but it doesn't take long for me to jump in his way, and force him in a different direction, laughing as I continue our little _game_. When he trips I skid to a stop, and dig my small, small claws into the ground, allowing myself to hover over him as he curls up in a ball, crying and shaking. Good. _You don't have to-_.

The smaller boy looks to me, his golden irises glossy, yet strangely intriguing. And from nowhere I'm hit with a knife.

As I stumble away, quickly shielding myself as I curl up on the ground, I press a hand to the stinging cut on my left cheek, tears tracing my cheeks as I sit up again. I bring my hand away from my face, watching it begin to shake as I spot the blood. _Get over it, its blood_.

"A-Are you-?" I quickly look to the little boy, hurrying away as I trip myself up and once more go tumbling to the ground, my own two feet a tangled mess with my tail, and my balance nowhere to be found. I begin to cry, using my wings to pathetically try and shield myself. A hand is placed to the scaly side of one of them, causing me to flinch. "A-Are you o-okay?" The boy pulls one of my wings aside despite my effort to keep it in place, a concerned look on his face. I can't help but stare at his golden eyes, so intriguing, so much depth… so beautiful.

"P-Please…" I start, choking back tears. "Please l-leave me alone!" I whisper, jerking my wing out of his hand and tightly wrapping myself back up with the appendage. I can feel the boy begin to grab at my wings again, crying harder as he does so. "Please don't hurt me!" I yell in a whispery voice, as I can't muster anymore than that.

"I won't hurt you." He assures, pulling my wings aside and blinking those big, golden eyes at me. "I just want to help you." I stare at the boy in silence. As I stare at him now, I realize he isn't just a boy, but someone older than I am, if only by a year or two. And…

"W-… Why are y-you so nice t-to me?" I whisper. _He'll kill you_. The boy smiled lightly.

"Because you seem like you need a friend." The boy mumbled. "And a doctor, for your mental issues, but I can't help you there." He chuckled lightly, but I just stared at him, a horrified look growing the more I repeat his words in my mind. _Mental, ha! I'll show him mental-_.

"I-… I'm not mental…" I whisper, beginning to crawl away from him as a confused look covers his face. He follows.

"But you attacked me, and for no reason. I didn't mean to upset you, I just…" He stopped talking as my back bumped into a tree, causing me to flinch, and freeze. "I'm sorry." He mumbles, stopping in front of me. "It wasn't nice of me to say that. I-I didn't mean it." The boy gives me another smile. "I-I'm Sky, b-but you can call me Adam."


	2. Chapter 1:

**(Updates every Friday! Thanks for being patient!)**

**Chapter 1:**

I've always known something is wrong with me, but I've never been able to place a finger as to what it could be. Is it all in my head? Or am I just foolish enough to believe that? Sometimes I just don't know what to think. Magic doesn't exist, and yet I find it all around… so to truly believe what I'm telling myself, must I perish within the flames this castle holds to light? I don't know…

"Sky," Hero begins. "Go get me a glass of wine." I don't respond, as I find my own voice to be repulsive. I simply walk out of the dining room, and begin towards the castle's kitchen. Within the dark hallways of brick, I see others, all working on one thing or another. Hero says we're servants, but we all know that we're merely slaves.

Entering the kitchen, the bags under my eyes not too terribly visible from the faint glow of the stone above, I glance around for the man that actually speaks English. The rest don't. The smell of blood is ripe in the air as the quartz flooring sounds from beneath my feet, the grunts of the natives – the only ones with free will around here – quiet, muffling slightly from the loud slicing of butcher knives. I stop besides the man that speaks (limited) English, and gently tug at his ripped shirt.

Spinning around quickly, knife in hand; the blade catches my right wrist and leaves a gashing mark. I silently cry out as he looks me up and down, but his only reply to what he'd done is a quiet grunt.

"You want?" Tears rolling down my cheeks, I look to the counter and manage to pick up a wine glass, showing him. He grunts once more, muttering in pig Latin as he snorts, and walks off, his rotting flesh revealing the bone of his left cheek as he turns away from me. I gag, as I always do when I see it. As I wait, I take into account that I'm the only one human within this kitchen. Spotting a small rag, I quickly snatch it up and firmly press it to my bloody wrist, already feeling faint. And when the man returns, he grunts, and hands over the glass.

"You go, smell bad." Quickly hurrying out, I hear the man snort before continuing with his work. I hurry down the hallway, and listen to my somewhat heavy footing while careful to watch for others. The murky, thick, black liquid within the glass is stationary, even as my hand is shaking. I slow my pace, as even something as simple as speed walking causes me to feel light headed. Or the faint feeling might just be from the blood trail I'm leaving. I enter the dining room once again. The roaring fire snaps like the whips of the natives when we don't work fast enough, but Hero smiles as he sees me. Until he realizes I've (once again) been hurt. I hand over the glass, but he spills it on the table as he tosses it aside, taking my slashed and bloodied wrist with a gentle grasp.

"How many times must I tell that bastard to watch it?" Hero whispers, leading me out of the dining room. Our familiar path sets into motion as he leads me to the nearest bathroom like the many other times things of this sort occur, and he begins to clean me up. The harsh sting of the disinfectant upon the open wound is enough to draw a soft, high pitch cry from my lips. The smell of alcohol is strong as Hero uses a plentiful amount of it, soon bringing clean, white bandages into the mix. And as soon as he starts wrapping, the bandages are no longer white in some areas. Hero wraps the bandage tightly, but not tight to the point where I'll lose blood flow in my arm. He wraps the bandage counterclockwise around my wrist, right then left, and soon the bandage covering my forearm is red and white. Hero's thick fingers gently wipe at my face, a sorrowful look within his eyes.

I'm nothing special. I don't talk, though I eat a plentiful amount, and most of the time I'm messing something up. Why Hero keeps me around… I don't know. Hero sighs.

"Well, why don't you return to your room for the night; I'll see to it that the wine is cleaned up." I quietly nod, and exit the bathroom, Hero following only briefly before disappearing back into the dining room. I continue to walk, silent as I hold my numb hand to my chest.

I share a room with 3 others. I can't remember any of their names. They don't talk to me, just amongst themselves. No one talks to me… other than Hero. I guess that's why I feel more comfortable around him. I lay down in my bed and face the wall, still caressing my injured hand as I think back to home. No one ever gave me the time… and yet that one kid did… and Hero gave me time too… but what's so special about me that attracts a god's attention? I'll never know…

If I had a sense of time, I'd tell you when I once more got out of bed, but in hell there is no time. This place is…time passes slower here. Whatever age I was back home… well, surely I'm younger than others by this point. How much time has gone by since I've arrived? I don't know anymore.

As I carry two meals, one in each hand, I silently travel down the empty hall. Why I have two meals today, I'm not sure. I don't eat until later.

Upon entering the dining hall, I notice a few things that are different. There are guards on post, and the fire isn't as lively as it usually is, not to mention the man sitting across the table from Hero. I can hear the natives grunting to each other, and feel their gazes upon me. I keep my eyes down, watching my feet as I walk to Hero.

"Ah, Sky, glad to see that you're doing better." Hero comments, his conversation with the other cutting short. "Thank you." He adds as I hand the meals to him. Taking a step back, I begin to once more cradle my hurt hand, glancing to the man. His bleach blonde hair is shiny in this light, and compared to us, he's very pale. His eyes glow like the dying embers of a fire, an orange-red that has a fierceness to it. He glances to Hero as he takes a bite of his bloody meal, and his vision lands on me afterwards. From nowhere he suddenly begins choking on his food.

Hero hurries to help him as a few guards are suddenly alert, glaring at me with their soulless black eyes. The man isn't choking for very long, calm after a bit as he fixes his gaze to his plate.

"Are you alright? Sky, go fetch a glass of water." I nod briefly and begin to leave, the native's snorting lightly.

"Yes, sorry for the scare. I must've not chewed my food as thoroughly as I thought I did." Comparing the sudden commotion in the dining hall to the hallway, you can call the hallway dead, in a sense. Out of breath by the time I arrive to the kitchen; the native's all look to me, stopping what they're doing.

"You want?" The English speaking pig demands, seeming unamused as he places his knife down. I walk over and pick up a regular glass, and he snatches it from me, filling the thing with water before handing it back. "You go, need bath." My face flushing a faint red, I leave the kitchen and make my way back towards the dining room. My footsteps echo lightly, as the silence is so thick that the smallest sigh could pierce through it. I slow as I near the dining hall.

"But Sky is-!"

"You owe me Hero! Don't you fucking forget it!" The heavily armored blonde harshly interrupts as I pause by the entrance. Hero frowns, glancing towards me. Shock quickly finds his face.

"How long have you been standing there, Sky?" The man looks to me too, straightening himself out and lifting his chin slightly. His bulky armor causes an uneasy feeling to bubble within me as I walk towards them, soon stopping before Hero and handing over the glass.

"… You owe me." The man repeats as Hero sets the glass down on the table, breaking the heavy silence. I look to the man for a brief moment before looking back to Hero once more, an anxious, scared feeling flooding my system. And as Hero watches me, I can see his sorrow- his dread- his worry. But he glances to the man and sighs, looking away from us both.

"Alright." Hero whispers.

"Hero…?" I whisper. The shock on his face is evident as he quickly looks to me, and he nearly steps back. _Does my voice really scare him so much?_ I glance to the man, but quickly return my attention to Hero, stepping closer to him. "What's going on…?" I mouth, unable to form any words.

"You're leaving." The man declares after evidently reading my lips, but I don't want to hear it from him. "You'll be transported to my kingdom as a peace offering to keep war out of Hero's kingdom." I watch Hero carefully, never breaking eye contact. His eyes were purely white, but not soulless. They held emotion too.

Hero reaches out to me, and places his hands upon my shoulders. He bites at the inside of his lip as he silently nods to me, as if to say that the man isn't lying. I quickly wrap myself around him, hiding my face in his chest as my arms align themselves with his spine. And I begin to silently cry. I could feel Hero's strong grip wrap carefully around my fragile form, and his head lay on top of mine. Hero pulls me off however, and holds me at arm's length.

"Goodbye, Sky." He whispers, a stray tear rolling down his right cheek. I can't muster the strength to say goodbye, but as I feel a firm grip upon my left bicep, I lunge once more at Hero and wrap myself around him, by this point shaking.

"I don't want to leave…" I whisper, barely able to hear myself, my voice waterlogged. Hero holds me close, the man sighing from behind me.

"I'm sorry…" Hero whispers, tilting my chin up to meet his gaze. "But you need to let go now." The man once more takes my left bicep into his grasp, and he forcibly removes me from Hero's arms, Hero not stopping him.

"We'll be leaving now. Have a good afternoon, Hero." The man dismisses himself and begins to lead me off, only pausing briefly for Hero to tell him one last thing, though I can't hear what. And as I glance over my right shoulder, I take one last look at Hero as he stands there, alone in his dining room, staring back at me.

~Tox~

I wait in silence for the general to return. He's been gone a rather long time, now hasn't he? I growl, sitting up.

"ESTOL!" Quietly, the throne room door opens, and the man in question peaks his head in, not entering. I tilt my head, grinning. "Where's the general?" I hiss.

"He's in hell." Estol quietly mumbles, and he shuts the door again.

"DID I DISMISS YOU?!" I sit up fully, gripping at the arms of this rock hard chair. Estol doesn't respond, and I'm left in solitude once again. Damn that bastard! It's a little more than ten minutes later until the door opens again, fully this time. This time, the General walks in. Bringing someone with him in chains. "God damn it, that stubborn old hag!" I mutter, laying back down.

"King Hero has paid early, your Majesty-."

"I can see that!" I snap, silencing the General. The man he presents before me looks somewhat younger than I do, but he _is_ from hell, and that isn't anything new. As I look him over, something begins to tick, like a clock, working its rusting gears as I try to piece together what I'm looking at. "What is this?" I growl, sitting up fully once more.

"King Hero has offered his personal slave to you," The General informs me. "Your Majesty." Slowly sliding down from my elevated throne, I land lightly on my feet, and begin towards the kneeling man with shackles bounding his wrists, one wrist bandaged in bloody rags. I can sense Estol, hiding in the dark corner as he watches, though he doesn't like being here when Max delivers new slaves. Something isn't right.

Reaching out, I grip the man's chin and force him to look up at me, glaring down at him. I blink. The man's golden irises are… intriguing, almost like something… I can't place a finger to it. I release his chin, and his gaze instantly drops to my feet.

"Well aren't you an obedient little _pet_?" I glance to the General, but ultimately I find myself more drawn to the man at my feet. "What's your name?" And he doesn't answer. My vision darkens. "_Answer me_."

"Your Majesty," The General starts. "He doesn't speak."

"A mute?" I sneer, baring the sharp diamond-like teeth I call my own.

"I was thinking that he could-."

"Shut up." I interrupt, beginning to walk around the man, eyeing him. The General goes silent, but as I further examine the man below me, I can't help but gain a headache. "What's his name?" I snap, sharply looking to the General.

"Sky-."

"_Sky_." I chortle. "A rather feminine name. I can only imagine why Hero would hold you as a personal slave." I spit, thoughts and images creating themselves in my head. I begin back towards my throne, but as I continue to think, I continue to imagine so _much_. I stop walking, though I don't turn around. I close my eyes and slowly take a breath.

The image of Sky… _naked_, crosses my mind… as he sits obediently, kneeling down at Hero's feet, staring up at the god as he takes him whole… silent tears falling down his cheeks- though a desperate, _horny_ look to his eyes as the god has his way with Sky's mouth. I can imagine Sky… chained to a table- face down… taking a brutal _fucking_ from Hero as the god of hell- of pain- of torture- _pleasures_ Sky's body beyond belief, a cock ring restricting the younger man's release from coming. And I can imagine Sky laying stomach up for _hours_, length erect and standing tall- twitching- arms bound behind his back and legs spread apart as Hero leaves him for someone else's use, that built up pleasure slowly turning to torture as Sky waits for someone to grant him the release he so desperately wants.

A shudder racks my body, the throne room silent. I spin around to once more face the two males before me, grinning.

"Your Majesty, as I was saying earlier, I-."

"Shut up." I snap, walking back in front of Sky. I reach down and snatch up a handful of his shirt, lifting him with one arm to his feet and pulling him close. He doesn't look up to meet my gaze. "He's _mine_."

"What?" I look to the General, growling as my vision darkens.

"_HE'S MINE_." I repeat, louder. "_I want him as my own slave_." The General, though pale, seems to get even paler, but nods and doesn't object to my demand. I look down to the man in my grasp, finding his gaze upon me, a fear in his eyes. I sneer. _You don't have to be afraid_…


	3. Chapter 2:

**(Notes at end, please read.)**

**Chapter 2:**

The room is large and open, though unlike the castle this place is full of colors darker than a bloody red. I remember glancing to a window and seeing the ground out beyond these walls, when the General had me. The ground here is a pale yellow-white. The people are tall; skin distorted in particular places and some even possessing the wings of a dragon, like…

Shivering, I sniffle, wiping at the tears spilling helplessly down my cheeks. _I miss you_… As I sit in a corner, alone in the darkness, I wait for someone- _anyone_ to come find me. I'm in his territory, though. No one is coming for me. It's cold here, so much colder than hell. I see no fires, no stones of a glowing nature, no charred ground that easily catches flame… nothing. It's just… _cold_. I sit here freezing, a thin blanket all I have to wrap around me, while everyone else runs around nearly naked.

The glass doors to the balcony are suddenly open, and from across the room the man standing there looks like a demon. Eyes glowing a dark purple, the slits in his eyes a lighter shade of the colors. His wings outstretch to block out most of the moon, that faintly noticeable smirk on his face as everything about him is purely black, and screams death.

"Come here, _slave_." I wipe away the remaining tears on my face and quietly sniffle, standing up and slowly approaching this man. This king. This killer. Word of this man spread like wildfire when the gods found out what he'd done. Hero was especially concerned. I remember Hero describing this man's parents to me. They weren't dictators, and this man didn't grow up with that influence. What eventually caused him to be like this no one knows, or no one cares to share. He just _snapped_. I stop, standing merely a foot away from him. I don't look up at him.

The man spins me around so suddenly that I nearly fall from having lost my balance. The white strap he wraps around my neck prevents me from falling down, though, and with how tight he's tightening this collar it won't _just_ prevent me from falling, but breathing too. I bring my hands to the white dyed leather and grip at it, the collar no longer being tightened as now this man must be satisfied.

"You are to _never_ take this off- do you understand me?" His hot breath against my ear brings a shiver down my spine as I flinch and nod. This man grabs me by my hips, fingers long and slender. I can feel his claws as he yanks me close, and I begin to shake. My back bumps his chest. _He's strong_. "I want you to go into the bathroom, and strip yourself." He mumbles directly into my ear, his grip tightening on my hips. His claws are long, and his nails are sharp. They begin to pierce into my flesh as I bite my tongue. He chuckles, lips so close to my ear that he's basically kissing it.

He suddenly tosses me away with so much force that I stumble to the ground, landing on my side as I quickly scurry to me feet, putting pressure on my hurt wrist. I pull the wrist against my chest and face the man, biting my bottom lip now. He lifts a hand, but only to motion towards the door across the room.

"The bathroom is right over there." He calmly points out, smiling. That smile turns to a wicked, evil grin very quickly, the slits in his eyes thinning. "And if you aren't stripped out of every article of clothing by the time I walk in there, I'm going to rip your clothing straight from your skin." I don't move, petrified as the color leaves my face. "10." He begins to bare his teeth in his sick smile.

I run across the room so fast that everything begins to spin, and I stumble into the door, light headed. I hear him quietly call out the number nine. I open the bathroom door and I'm met by a pitch black wall. _Oh god._ I hear him call eight. I step inside, closing my eyes tightly and slamming the door behind me. It's so dark that even if my eyes _were_ open my vision wouldn't change, and I begin to strip out of my clothing. I'm shaking so badly, and from in here I can't hear him counting. _Just undress yourself_. The shirt I'm wearing is just plain black, and there isn't anything special about it other than it being made of hell fabric. The fabrics people dress themselves with down in hell are different from normal fabrics; they keep us cool. My long yoga pants are made of hell fabric as well, and are also, completely black. My long sleeved, somewhat ripped shirt easily slips up over my head and I throw it randomly at the ground, wincing as my wrist burns in pain. _Damn it_. I grab at my ankle length pants and tug them off, not even bothering with my shoes as I kick my pants off.

"_2_." I jump, as the King's voice is suddenly at the door, more dark and twisted compared to earlier. I grab at my maroon shoes and yank them off, pulling off my socks as well. _I'm still wearing my-._ "1." The door is suddenly thrown open and I jump away from it, tumbling into the darkness and falling to my knees. _It's so cold_… I look behind me, but when the lights suddenly turn on I quickly close my eyes, as these lights are a blinding white compared to the dim golden ones in hell. "Get into the tub." Just barely cracking my eyes open, I see the white marble tub in front of me, and reach out, pulling myself up by the edge. I crawl into the large tub, and seat myself against the farthest wall, shivering as I wrap my arms around my waist.

The king shuts the door with a soft click, looking towards the mirror above the sink. He smirks as his tail unconsciously flicks forward, pressing a button on the wall to his left. Suddenly water begins to fill the tub, hot, steaming water that feels like it's scalding. From how cold I am I ignore the burning feeling and simply slip down to the floor of the tub, wanting to surround myself in this warmth. My hurt wrist feels like it's on fire.

"Are you _cold_?" He asks, darkly grinning as he pulls his shirt off. His chest is covered in a multitude of different scars, some large, others small. It's like a battle ground. His pants come off next, and he leaves his own boxers on as well. _Is that why he didn't take them off of me?_ The king presses the button via his tail once again as he climbs into the tub, sitting down, hovering over me. And then he frowns. "You're getting blood everywhere." He states, and stands back up as water drips from his lower body. I look down.

Sure enough, there was blood seeping from either the bandage or my wrist, or both, but either way it was staining the already dark, murky water. I stand up in the tub, not looking towards the king as he sighs heavily, stepping out. I can feel my face flush, but as the hot water drips off of my body I begin to once again feel very cold, and I start shivering again.

"ENTER!" I jump and step carelessly away as the king suddenly shouts the way he does, slipping back and falling back into the water, dosing myself and splashing the king. He growls at me, but the bathroom door opens, and Estol stands there. He blinks, lingering as the King looks to him and glares. "_What?_"

"I brought you the juice you asked for." Estol holds up a red-pink, blended liquid, the glass it's in somewhat covered in frost. The king takes it without a response, turning his glare back to me.

"He's bleeding." The king eventually declares, then downs most of the – what did he call it? – pink juice. I pull my wrist back against my chest, still shivering as now all of the water is gone. When I glance back up at Estol, his gaze meets mine, and I can feel my face flush.

"Bailey can-."

"Have Bailey stitch him up, then send him to the kitchen and teach him how to make a juice and send him back up with a lemon juice when all is said and done. I'll bathe him when he's back." The King grabs the white towel hanging on the towel rack and begins to dry himself off, setting the juice on the sink as he closes his eyes.

"How will Sky get around?" The king stops, and turns his gaze back to Estol.

"_What?_" Estol swallows.

"He can't fly, Tox." _Tox?_ "How will he get around?"

"_Have Bailey give him the syrup then_, you idiotic _bastard_."

"Yes Tox." Estol's voice is quiet and frail compared to Tox's. Yet with the General – didn't Estol call him Max? – Estol sounds more confident. _Are they scared of his man that much?_ I swallow the spit building in my mouth as Estol helps me up, Tox tossing his towel at us before disappearing back into his room. Estol remains silent as I shiver, drying me off from head to toe before letting me step out of the tub. "Here." He begins to hand me my clothing, and I quickly dress, happy to feel somewhat warm again though still rather cold.

Tox's room is very dark as my eyes adjust, said man lying on the bed now, staring at us. The moon shining in from the glass balcony doors makes his eyes glow brightly, and once again he begins to take the form of a demonic creature that deserves no place in any part of the universe. I shudder as we approach the large wooden doors.

"Bastard," Estol pauses despite the awful nickname, and looks to Tox, silent. "Tell the General to check up on King Hughes. His payment is due soon."

"Yes Tox." Estol mumbles before turning back around and leading me out of the room. Compared to the master bedroom, the hallway is… no, actually, it's still cold. Forget I said anything.

There are two doors on either side of the hallway, and at the end of the hallway is nothing but a hole in the floor. The first doorway on the left (when facing away from the master bedroom) is open, a boy inside. He's silent, writing with a stack of paper next to him. We continue walking by.

"That's Nova," Estol mutters when I look to him. "Tox's cousin." My eyes widen. _He has a cousin?_ "Nova's a lot more, uh… sane."

"I'm still suffering from insanity though." I jump, spinning around quickly as I come face to face with the guy. "Where are you taking him?" Nova turns his gaze to Estol, and Estol sighs, running a hand through his pitch black hair.

"Tox wants Sky to be able to navigate the castle on his own."

"Well, have fun suffering through that pain!" Nova declares with a smile towards me. He glances to the collar as I stare at him, concerned. "Nice collar." Nova pokes my nose as the little star charm on his own black choker jingles slightly, and then turns around and starts back for his room, tail slicing through the air in a playful manor. I look to Estol.

"Nova likes to wear it." I raise an eyebrow. "Also, he was born with a birth defect. He doesn't have magic in his veins. At all." _A dragon without magic…?_ "The star charm provides him with magic. Otherwise he would look human." I bite at my bottom lip and glance back towards Nova's room, remembering the last comment he'd made. _Have fun suffering through that pain!_ Estol takes my good wrist and begins to lead me towards the hole.

"Alright, come on." Estol's skin is cold, and as I think back to it so was Tox's. _Their natural body heat is lower._ "You're very warm, Sky." Estol stops at the lip of the hole, and glances down. I do so too. "But you aren't as warm as natural born natives of Hell. How did a human boy come about being Hero's most trusted individual?" His words muffle when I see the drop. It's _at least_ five stories to the ground floor.

The world suddenly blackens and this sickening, gut wrenching feeling begins to rip at me, pulling this way and that as needles stab at me, attempting to piece me together again. It feels like a hand shoves itself down my esophagus and grabs at my vocal chords, tearing them out as other things are being shoved back down, though what's being put into me I don't know. When my vision returns, I'm lying on the floor, staring at the floor as the sudden urge to vomit overtakes me.

"I'm sorry." Estol stands over me. "I should have warned you." His eyes are glowing fiercely, to the point that his bangs can't shield their bright red violet hue. All of the shadows I've heard of, or seen so far, have had eyes within the color range of blues, purples, violets, indigos, and the rare black. Estol is the only one I've seen with red-violet eyes, and they're beautiful. The glow stops after a second or so, though, and his stringy bangs that fall to pieces once more shield away his eyes.

Estol reaches down and attempts to pull me up, but before he can, I quickly turn away and begin to vomit. The taste is acidy, my stomach acids mainly the only thing able to come up though the very little bits of food that haven't digested fully come up too. It doesn't take long for me to stop, as I haven't had much to eat recently. Estol sighs and pulls me up, beginning to walk me off, not saying anything of the incident until a girl passes by. He stops her and directs her toward the liquid mess, and she complies without complaint, handing over a handkerchief. Estol gives it to me and continues to drag me along. I wipe at my mouth.

"How's your wrist?" I swallow the bile in my throat, not responding. My wrist is throbbing, and the bandages are dark and stained with both blood and water. There's blood running down my forearm because of it. Estol glances towards me, but doesn't say anything more.

After a while, down many winding hallways and passing by lots of people, I'm lead into a brighter hallway. This hallway is white and only has one door to enter and exit through, that door thick and heavy. There are a few people wandering around but all of them ignore us, going this way and that, too distracted with work to stop. My head is throbbing now too. _The medical ward_.

"Bailey!" Estol calls and I flinch as a girl stops in her tracks not far off, emerald wings propped on her back and her faded green-to-black tail rather short compared to other dragons I've seen. The materials connecting her wings spinal bones is a pale summer green, the spinal bones just black. Her skin is dark, not tan but taint and corrupt, almost like a shadow. The skin on her body that isn't taint is tan, though. _Is she a hell native? She can't be, can she?_

"Estol," She acknowledges with a nod, and turns her attention to me. "And you must be Sky." She begins to approach. "Tox called down to inform me I should be expecting you. I was told you were bleeding, an injury sustained from working with Hero is what he _claims_ I'm fixing up this time around." _This time…?_

"Tox wants him to drink the syrup as well, to make working easier." Bailey tenses at the mention of this _syrup_, green eyes darting towards Estol.

"That's permanent." She objects. "I can't fix him once he takes it- he'll be-!"

"I know." Estol's eyes seem weary. "But it can't be helped. Tox gets what he wants or the rest of us pay for it." Estol nudges me forward, and I tensely step towards this girl. She seems much older than Estol, around Max's age. Matured, I suppose… but Estol seems matured too. "He wants Sky back as quickly as possible, so I wouldn't take your time. Tox wants a lemon juice and he wants Sky to make it, so when he's done here send him off with someone to find Max or call Max down here to come and get him. Sky only just got here an hour ago."

"Alright…" Bailey responds, glancing over me.

"I have to go find Max, give him Tox's orders…" Estol mumbles to himself before sighing, a hand once again finding his black hair. "I have to go." He looks to me. "You're going to be fine, so just let Bailey do her work." I'm shivering still, but I give a faint nod. He frowns, fingering my shirt just briefly. "I'll send for a tailor as well." Estol turns and begins off, skin pale to the point that he blends with the white walls, yet the rest of him is like a black smug on a white canvas. None of his skin is taint. I look back to Bailey. Her smile is tired, but warm nonetheless.

"Let's start with that wrist, shall we?"

**1.) Right now chapters are at a 6 page average; do you want a longer 7-10 page average per chapter?**

**2.) I have a twitter for CurseOfTheEnder; do you want me to use it to give info or hint at chapters to come, ect.?**

**3.) I'm sorry this chapter is kind of slow, still getting back into the story. Do you want me to speed up?**


	4. Chapter 3:

**(I did it. X3.)**

**Chapter 3:**

I have no sense of time here, other than Bailey telling me how long a process has been. It's all a blur though, as the pain coming from my wrist is bringing me in and out of consciousness. Eventually I wake up and feel no pain, Bailey not far off when I do come around.

"Your wrist is all fixed up now, Sky." She mumbles, looking more awake than she had before. "With that mess out of the way," I sit up, shifting weight into my right wrist and back off of it again, relief bubbling inside of me. "I'm need you to drink this." I look back to Bailey, taking note that her formal medic getup is gone. She's dressed in shorts and a tank top, plastic gloves on her hands as she hands me a plastic cup. Inside the cup is a stationary brown liquid, and it reminds me of the wine in hell. That Hero enjoys. I begin to drink it. "Now, you're going to notice an intense-." I cut her off as the sudden stab to my back causes me to begin choking on the sticky liquid. My mouth and throat feel thick and I can't breathe from the film of this liquid blocking my airway. "Sky, you need to calm down!" Bailey urges. I continue to panic. Wouldn't anyone? It feels like something is reaching into my back and firmly grasping my bones, then taking said bones and tearing them out. "Sky!" It's hard to hear Bailey with this ringing in my ears, and everything around me sounds muffled. I can hear my heart as clear as day though, and its quickening rhyme sounds very wrong.

It doesn't matter anyways, because soon Bailey's had enough and I'm being struck on the skull with a metal pole. I'm on the floor very quickly, still having trouble breathing, still panicking. But she strikes me again as I watch her do it this time, and after that I can't remember anything.

**\- Prince Mitchell -**

The morning hush is still in tune, quieting the castle, silencing the city. The dawn has only just begun, reds and oranges piercing through the film of blue as the sun cuts its way into the day, leaving the moon to rot where it lay and slowly decompose. The process is beautiful.

I'm not dressed up; I hate those garments. I already know what my father is going to say, so I'm dallying. The air is cool, the Fourth soon to begin, the Third halfway through its yearly cycle. Outside I sit on the ledge of a balcony, watching the sleeping kingdom from afar. I've never been outside the castle even though I can defend myself, and I know the geography, and the cities… That won't ever be enough for my father, though. To him I am weak and will never be anything else.

A sigh escapes my lips, and I lean back, placing my head against the brick wall of the castle, bricks of stone that are cold in this early morning. My robe gently sways as a breeze blows by; one bare leg propped up, my arms wrapped around it, the other bare leg dangling off the ledge of this balcony up so high that a fall would surely kill me.

That doesn't sound so bad.

I can't stay here forever, sadly. They'll find me eventually, they always do, always will. There aren't many more hiding places in this castle anymore. I'm 23. Imagine how many I've gone through since I was 5. Trust me; the castle isn't that big at all, in fact I could argue that it's been shrinking… but what would be the point in arguing when no one is going to listen?

I stand, stretch, cast my eyes over the city once more before turning away, entering the castle, wrapping my body up in my robe. I'm not cold, but no doubt I'll be passing some of the female servants and quite frankly I'm only in boxers. By now, some sort of breakfast is made, surely.

The halls remain empty for a time, though eventually I pass by an older female, in her mid-thirties, pulling back the large, thick, and heavy curtains that cover the windows and letting the natural light pour inside. She glances to me as I pass by, saying nothing as she returns her attention to tying back the drapes. In return, I don't say a thing, both of us avoiding attention, avoiding sound that will disturb the bliss and silence.

My room isn't far from the balcony, as I wasn't truly hiding, unable to by this point in my life. I'm not small anymore, in fact I'm much larger than I was then. My frame can't squeeze into smaller spaces any longer. My door opens with the sound of the lock pulling back, closing with a click. My drapes are already open; I did them myself. My small balcony – and by small, I mean very small; it doesn't even hold more than one body at a time – door is open, letting my room chill. I toss my robe away once more, not staying to watch it flutter onto the bed as I move to the bathroom.

In the mirror, my hair is messy and my eyes dull. I grab a comb, combing through my chin-length hair before wetting a rag and washing my face. _I can't spend long_… I ring out the rag once before patting my face dry and then wiping off my hands, leaving the bathroom once more. My closet is large and full of clothing – most of which I despise, but I pick out an outfit anyways and begin to dress. The outfit is a black pair of trousers with a white bliaut. The bliaut has a high collar, slit in the front, and has a trimming of gold. The "chest plate" part of the bliaut also has the trimming of gold. I pull a simple black leather belt on around my waist and tighten it, before pulling on a surcoat of red velvet, also possessing the trimming of gold, that hugs my form loosely and hangs down to my ankles. The surcoat is sleeveless and possesses two clasps right above my belly button that I do up. The sleeves of my bliaut are white and loose, hanging all the way down to my wrists. I pull on gold bracers to cover my wrists as a knock sounds at my door, the door opening without my say, as it always does.

"The king demands your presence, Prince Mitchell."

"I was just coming down, sir." I assure my father's advisor, slipping on a pair of knee-length leather boots, stuffing my trousers within them and quickly lacing the boots up. The boots were also black, matching my trousers.

"Yes, of course you were." I can hear the sarcasm in his voice but make no say of it, smoothing out my surcoat just a bit as he moves to my balcony doors and closes them with a quick ease. He turns, and I look him in the eye.

"Where shall I-?"

"Where do you think?" The advisor interrupts impatiently, ushering me out of the room before closing the door and walking off to do his own thing. I sigh, making my way down the hall before turning right, to the grand staircase, and heading down to the main floor. From there, I turn left, leading me into the main hall, where the throne sits. I continue forward, across the way, passing the stationed guards, and enter the dining room where I find my father sat impatiently at the table. He glares at me, jaw set as I make my way over to him. He's sat himself at the head of the table, forcing me to take a seat at either one of his sides; I choose his left side, seeing as he's right handed.

"Tell me; what took you so long?"

"I was dressing."

"Dressing shouldn't take so long with others dressing you." Father criticizes.

"I dressed myself." I snap. "I'm not a child."

"You surely act like one. If it weren't for me sending for you, you'd never show up to anything on time- even with people fetching you, you're late!" A maid places a plate of food down in front of me, walking off as I gingerly pick up my fork and begin to eat. _Maybe I'd rather not show up_. I shove some food into my mouth, suffocating the thought as I keep my gaze low. "Now do explain, how are you coming along with a wife?"

"Haven't been looking." I respond after swallowing, and my father heavily sighs, very annoyed.

"If you won't find yourself a wife, I'll do it for you. You've disregarded my request several times now- and with all of the maidens that have come through the castle you surely should have been able to pick one by now."

"Well maybe I don't want to get married yet." I grit my teeth, glaring at my father.

"Don't give me that look, young man." He warns, and I huff, looking back down to my food and continuing to quickly eat. "And stop stuffing your mouth full of food, it isn't prince-like! Sit up straight while you're at it- don't think I'm so stupid not to notice what you're trying to do!" By now my father is yelling and I'm finished, another one of my father's councilmen in the room, watching. I can't remember what he does. I stand, swallowing my last bit of food before storming off, not saying a word.

"Did the King dismiss you?" The councilman harshly demands, a guard catching my arm.

"I didn't think I'd need to be dismissed in my own home." I snap back, trying to yank my arm from the guard as the councilman glares at me. The guard doesn't let up, and begins to drag me back towards the table where my father is standing, waiting.

"I will not stand for such disrespect towards me from my own son." My father warns, grabbing me by my bliaut and yanking me closer. "If you don't correct your attitude, then you don't want to know what I'll do."

"Are you going to hit me again?" My tone is venomous. My answer comes so suddenly that I'm nearly on the floor by the time my vision kicks back in again.

"Don't you _dare_ mock me, Mitchell." My father grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks me back up, my face stinging harshly and my head spinning. "Now I want you out of my _sight_, do you understand?" I meekly nod, eyes closed tightly. I'm thrown away from him, catching myself on the floor with my hands before standing up. "Get out." I leave, and the guard doesn't attempt to stop me this time.

I don't go back to my room, instead I head past out back, to the gardens. The gardens have always been a safe haven, other than Frank, the dungeon keeper. Out in the gardens, the air is cool, a breeze lightly blowing as I wander around. I unclasp and strip off my surcoat, wrapping it around both of my arms in a pathetic attempt to fold it somewhat as I continue to walk around. Eventually, out in the deeper, more desolate part of the garden, I find myself upon a grave, and sit down next to it, leaning against it.

It's my mother's grave.

Everything is quiet, birds humming melodies in the distant wind as I gaze toward the water of the river nearby. Her headstone is worn and cold, just a slab of stone standing upright. But it's comforting. My mother died when I was very young, and all I remember of her is pictures and faint memories. I remember that her one wish for me, was that I didn't turn out like my father. That was her only wish, her only dream. She was killed by a hired mercenary, out in town one day while visiting shops. I had been with her, but I don't remember it. All I know is that the incident sparked war, and though it only lasted a year, I remember it more vividly than I do my mother. I remember feeling so alone, so abandoned… I couldn't understand then what had happened. I was only four years old, alone in a giant castle as my father fought out in the war, alone with maids and slaves, servants and advisors to watch me. And Frank, too.

I sigh, the memories returning and giving me a nauseous feeling inside. The mercenary had been friends with baccas, and because of it the baccas stood by him, helping their friend. They had been completely unaware that he was a criminal until they were already plunged deep in the war. After that, my father blamed them too, enslaving the baccas that remained and forcing them to live as prisoners of war in our basement, otherwise referred to as the dungeon. I lean more into the gravestone, a tear slipping down my face as a wind blows. _This is all I have left of you now_.

The gardens are quiet, dense with greenery. I can very faintly hear the horses at the stable, off by the castle gates. The river is most of what I can hear though. Strong and powerful, yet quiet and mellow sounding. It's strange to imagine that a force so powerful can be so tranquil. I suppose that's what a silent killer is, then.

My sword slices through the air, clashing with his. He's quick, and bigger, and stronger. He pushes me away, rushing me but I dodge, and catch his gut against my knee, listening to the grunt that he sounds. I pull my knee down and back in a quick secession, going to knee him again but he catches my leg and throws me off balance; I manage to recover but not in time to block his next sword swing, and he catches my right bicep from behind me. The blow is hard and will surely leave a bruise but I don't inch off, making a quick grab for his sword and giving it a yank. He's unarmed in an instant, and looking very unamused.

"Prince Mitchell, making a grab like that-."

"Disarms an opponent and yes, will cut open my palm. Who the hell cares if I cut myself, it's a _cut_." I argue, turning and facing my trainer.

"A cut can lead to a much more serious injury- _or_ infection, not to even begin mentioning that it won't always disarm someone!"

"Well it disarms you, now doesn't it?" I step towards my trainer, gripping the wooden sword in my hand tighter as he closes the distance, standing a good head taller than me. He's beefier, well trained, and an utter ass.

"If you aren't going to pay attention to what I'm teaching you then why am I here?" The trainer glares down at me. "Continue like this and I'm going to-."

"What?" I challenge. "What are you going to do?" My trainer knees me, and though the blow is very sudden and all of the breath in my lungs is now gone, I wrap my arms around his leg and spin, throwing him to the ground despite all of my disadvantages. He once again grunts, getting up as I pant. "When're you going to teach me _real_ skills? When will I learn to _really_ fight?" I demand, trailing behind him as he walks off towards the gate.

"When you're older."

"I'm 23, not 11!" I argue, stepping in front of him. "My father hired you to teach me to fight, not to argue with me about how I'm fighting."

"You fight like a whiny child." My trainer argues, snatching the wooden sword from my hand. "If you won't listen to me, I'm not going to do anything more with you."

"You're quitting?" He walks around me, not saying a word. "You're quitting because I'm _cutting my palm_ in an attempt that's _always_ worked to disarm my opponent?"

"You're _cutting your palm_ in an attempt to disarm _me_." My trainer turns to me, and thrusts the sword at my neck, where it's blocked by my forearm. "If I were a real enemy I'd yank that sword straight out of your grasp and cut half your hand off." We both go silent, and he lowers the wooden sword, glaring at me, his jaw set as if it'd make him seem superior. "If you won't fight the way I teach you, then I don't have to teach you."

"I _am_ fighting the way you teach me- I have been for 12 years!"

"And even after 12 years, you're still a horrid fighter."

"I fight the way you want me to, so if I'm a horrid fighter then why are you teaching me to fight this way?" I yell, bring my arm back down to my side. My hand balls into a fist as my teacher snorts.

"It isn't my fault that you're incapable of learning, or _listening_ for that matter."

"Oh really? And what am I supposed to listen to? Your constant bitching about every little thing I do?"

"You should get that thick skull out of your ass, boy." My trainer warns, gripping the wooden sword more firmly.

"Why, you want up there instead?"

"Sometimes I wonder how the hell your mother created such a disrespectful child- she must be ashamed of herself." It's suddenly very warm, and very dark, and all I can see is red. And my trainer. My heart is beating fast and adrenaline rushes through me. My trainer's abandoned wooden sword is laying on the ground, and I snatch it up and charge him. All I can hear is a ringing in my ears and my breathing is heavy. I can barely focus on the fight. I feel a numbed, harsh thwap but it's not painful.

And when everything is normal again, when I can hear, and see clearly, and _think_ clearly, my trainer is laying beneath me, wooden sword long gone and a black eye quickly forming, laying on the ground beneath the tip of my wooden sword as I pant. He looks a mixture of shock, and pain, and anger. There's a dark bruise forming on my right shoulder joint.

"Say another word of my mother and next time I won't be using a wooden sword." I warn, throwing my sword to the ground and beginning to walk off. A few of the guards posted nearby are staring, a few beginning towards my trainer. I glance to the sky. _It's the afternoon, at least. I need someone to talk too again_.

Dinner is tense, and silent. My father doesn't say a word to me, and I don't say a word to him. I'm sitting to his left again, as I always try to do. The food is great, but nonetheless I don't want to be sitting in here.

"Your trainer quit a few hours after your session today." My father suddenly announces. I stop eating, glancing to him. I find him glaring at me, looking rather upset. "_What did you do?_"

"I didn't do anything wrong." I reply. "He was a horrible teacher anyways. All he did was complain about every little thing I did and never made an effort to teach me a different way of doing things."

"That isn't the point, Mitchell!" My father yells, suddenly very upset. "From what he says, you blatantly disregarded his instruction on _several_ occasions! Furthermore, you beat him senseless for merely _arguing_ with you!"

"That is _not_ what happened!" I yell back. "He insulted my mother! He deserved to be beat senseless!"

"Why the hell would I believe a child to a trusted, honest man?!" My father stands up and I quickly follow, growling. I can feel my heart racing.

"I'M YOUR SON!"

"All you are is a wasted effort!" My father harshly spits out, glaring and looking down at me. "Until you grow up, you're nothing more than a worthless child!" Everything suddenly feels heavy- very heavy. I don't feel hungry anymore. I feel empty. My father sits back down, still glaring. I don't bother to finish eating _or _push in my chair before quickly leaving. None of the guards try to stop me, and I make a quick dash across the main hall and up the staircase, running to my room and slamming the door closed behind me.

And from there, I don't move. I lean against the door and the tears flow, searing, burning. I don't make a sound, keeping it inside as my knees go weak, and slide down the door to sit on the ground. _If I'm not supposed to be a child, then why the hell do you keep treating me like one?_


End file.
